


Post-finals Crash

by Saraste



Series: Christmas fics 2014 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Everybody lives!, Family, Fluff, Holiday Season, M/M, Male Slash, Mpreg, Romance, Stiles goes to Berkeley and Derek pines, magical alpha-mate shenanigans which mess up biology, not season three & four compliant, overprotective Derek Hale, putting up fairylights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2713928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is home from Berkeley for the holidays and is spending the break with his alphamate, one Derek Hale. He takes a tumble when trying to put up some fairy lights but luckily Derek is there to save the day, yet he seems to be more concerned than what the occasion warrants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Post-finals Crash

 

 Stiles was perching precariously upon a ladder in the living room of his and Derek's home, fastening some soon-to-be sparkling fairy lights on the wall. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and leaned just a little bit farther and... was suddenly falling, knowing he was falling and cursing himself for not being more careful because it was going to _hurt_.

 

Miraculously, his tumble was stopped short by warm strong arms wrapping around him and carrying his weight before he could hit the floor and break or twist some part of his body. He looked up at Derek's stern face which was clearly chastising him for not being careful enough, the sternness mixed with... fear?

 

“Stiles,” Derek growled as his eyes, with an edge of alpha red in them, roamed over him to make sure that he was unhurt, “didn't I tell you I could put those up so you wouldn't need to?” There was a clear Alpha-push in the tone, trying to bend Stiles into Derek's will, only that didn't really work that well with the mate of an alpha.

 

Stiles shifted in the, ahem, _bridal carry_ , which Derek had him in, looking up at his worrywart Alphamate and grinned. “But then I would have missed this prime opportunity to have your arms wrapped around me after you've heroically saved me from a mighty fall!” Stiles was so happy that their lives were so much less hectic right now that falling down when putting up Christmas lights was the most likely chance to injure yourself. Not that he wanted to be hurt in any shape or form because pain was such a drag.

 

The arms around him held on tighter, just for a moment before Derek deigned to let Stiles get down and onto his own two feet. “You think you're clever, don't you?” he asked, not letting Stiles completely out of his arms but instead caging him in against the wall between two strong, outstretched arms. Yeah, he was looming, Stiles couldn't fathom it but he always almost seemed to _miss_ the looming when he and Derek spent significant amounts of time apart.

 

“Possibly...” Stiles was not going to give Derek any quarter with his over-protectiveness, which had but increased in the last week after he'd gotten home for the holidays. To tell the truth, it was making Stiles a little fidgety, he couldn't imagine how hard it would be for Derek when the break was over and he was going back to Berkeley for the Spring semester. (Well, technically he knew how _hard_ it was going to be and how much it would be _in_ him whenever Derek visited but he was thinking more about Derek's emotional response to him being in Beacon Hills while Stiles himself was away for college.)

 

Then there was the _touching_ again, not your average, my mate-is-so-horny-and-can't-keep-his-hands-to-himself type of touching but just... a light placing of one of Derek's warm strong hands at Stiles' midriff. _While_ Derek was leaning in and taking a long whiff at Stiles' neck, scenting him but somehow _more_ than before. It was intense and unlike any scenting they had been doing before Stiles came home seven days ago. Which was a fun memory, Derek all but tackling him to the floor by the door the moment they got home and rubbing and touching him _all over._

 

“ _You_ almost weren't...” Derek practically _sobbed_ against the soft, ticklish skin at Stiles' neck. “You almost... could have...”

 

But he said no more. Which left Stiles with more questions than answers. “Hey,” he petted at Derek's head in comfort, “nothing happened. I'm all in one piece.”

 

He could _almost_ swear that he heard Derek mutter in a very low voice: ”Until you aren't.” Which made no sense whatsoever.

 

Stiles continued to pet at his boyfriend/mate and just let Derek go through whatever over-protectiveness freakout he was going through. He kind of liked to be held as something so precious that Derek feared something like a fall would _break_ him. The closeness was actually making Stiles a little tired with the amount of heat which was transferring to him from Derek and eventually he was yawning so widely it felt like his jaws were going to become unhinged. “Maybe you could put up the rest while I take a little nap, yeah?” he suggested.

 

It was just the post-finals crash still having it's way with him, Stiles told himself, even when he had spent most of the past week sleeping over ten hours a night. Or then some weird mate-bond thing, maybe he was being transferred some of Derek's lack of sleep from all the nights the big broody alpha had spent sleepless pining after his mate who was in another city.

 

Stiles entirely missed the secretive smile curling up Derek's lips as he dozed on the couch and directed where the icicle-shaped fairy lights were to be hung on the walls. He fell asleep to the thought of being able to wrangle whatever it was out of Derek as soon as he was done with his nap.


	2. The Heart Wants What it Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek looks at his napping mate, losing himself to memory on how they became Derek and Stiles, the Alpha and his mate and how Derek survived Stiles' first year at Berkeley.

 

Derek watches Stiles sleep after he's put up the fairy lights, the last few yards without Stiles' instructions, because his mate had fallen asleep mid-sentence fifteen minutes into laying down on the sofa for his nap.

 

He has no idea how his mate can be so reckless because Derek had _told_ Stiles that he'd put up the lights, had just gone upstairs for the ornaments, away for less than five minutes. Five minutes was more than enough for Stiles to do what he wanted, what Derek had expressly _forbidden_. That had been his mistake there, forbidding Stiles from doing something was like an engraved invitation to do it.

 

Just look at what got Stiles into the world of werewolves in the first place: going into Beacon Hills Preserve when expressly forbidden by the Sheriff and getting Scott bitten and unearthing Laura's body.

 

As Derek looks down at Stiles' slumbering form he wonder when thinking about had stopped hurting so much. That first year he had been so raw and there had been so much going on he hadn't had any proper time to really process her death, so it had been an open wound, festering in him and gnawing at him until he was ready to go crazy for it.

 

Stiles had helped so much, so had Derek's pack and they had  _finally_ managed to get things settled enough that they did not need to spend every single day frightened for their lives or the lives of others. Derek had struggled against his feelings for Stiles for the longest time. Part of it had been him wanting to wait until Stiles was older because... just,  _because_ , which had been a special kind of hell for Stiles  _had_ known, had seen the way Derek looked at him and Derek, Derek had seen the way Stiles had looked at him and had  _known_ . 

 

It had been a rather trying time for both of them which had ended when Stiles had jumped Derek in his 18 th birthday party and kissed the sense out of him. Derek could still vividly remember the not-so-shocked silence around them and the scent of Stiles filling his senses and the pure animalistic  _want_ it had woken in him, which had almost led him to dryhump Stiles against the wall never-mind who was present. Thankfully Sheriff Stilinski had been present, which had wrenched Derek's sanity back to him in time, as well as the ribs by his beta, Erica and Jackson being the loudest of the bunch, telling them to get a room.

 

It had been the best summer of Derek's life, losing himself in his mate with Stiles losing himself into _him_ in equal measure. There had been playful chases in the woods, trysts over the naked cloudless sky above, sun shining on their sweat-glistening skin. Stiles had become Derek's mate, but not his anchor, because he'd already been that, after Derek had been able to let go of his sorrow and hatred, which had worked for him ever since the fire. 

 

Their mating had made the pack more steady, more stable, which was so good. That, in turn, had made Beacon Hills more stable and peaceful, and established pack in residence making curious and malicious supernatural beings think twice before coming there.

 

The first year that Stiles was away at Berkeley Derek had put his pining into building their house. There was room for the whole pack, sure, but in Derek's head it was  _ always _ his and  _ Stiles'  _ home. Derek's building project was interspersed with vital trips to visit Stiles so they could hold onto their minds, for Stiles, despite not being a wolf, was still going a little stir-crazy when away from his mate for extended periods of time, for such was the bond between and Alpha and his mate.

 

Stiles had moved in properly the summer of the going year and Derek had been over the moon to have his mateloveStiles under the same roof. Sleeping in a bed which was big enough for both of them was a luxury, even though sharing Stile's narrow dorm-bed had had it's perks, as was morning sex which was not interrupted by a roommate exclaiming 'Please can you not do that while I'm still here, wait I'm going, going, you perverts!' which really brought down the mood. Derek had insisted that Stiles get a single room for his second year. Which Stiles had gotten. 

 

They had taken full advantage of the fact whenever Derek had visited during the never-ending autumn semester. It had been worse than Stiles' first year because Derek had gotten so used to having his mate with him all the time. His to hug when he wanted, his to fuck or have fuck him, to kiss and cuddle and do all the crazyperfect romantic and vital things they just needed from one another. 

 

Which had been why Derek had made a mistake. He'd been thinking about how he wanted Stiles around all the time, wishing, even when he knew that it was selfish, that there was something which would force Stiles to drop out and stay in Beacon Hills. And there had been this certain special moon which occurred only once every few years when Derek had been deep within Stiles and thinking about it...

 

And then Stiles had gone and tried to put up the fairy lights on his own, standing over a dodgy ladder and... Derek didn't even want to consider what could have happened if he'd not been in the hall just at that moment, or if he'd not been quick enough. 

 

Looking down at Stiles now Derek pondered whether to tell him or not because he  _ knew _ , had smelled it on Stiles the minute his mate got home and opened the door. A scent which was so right and yet a little bit wrong, because Derek should never have assumed that what he wanted would be something Stiles automatically wanted, too. Stiles shouldn't have even been home then, he'd told Derek he'd be a little late but then he'd come in early and opened the door and Derek had just been awash with his scent and his presence and in matelovefamilyhappy. He'd pounced and nuzzled and scented Stiles all over in his happiness, in his delirium. 

 

In the past week he had tried to rein his instincts in when every single one of them wanted to hide Stiles somewhere where  _ nothing  _ could get to him and hurt him and hurt --- and then Stiles had done his stunt with the fairy lights. Derek  _ needed  _ to tell him, for Stiles' safety too, for there were obvious health-concerns, even when Stiles' body had somewhat... adapted Derek thought the right word was, to being a born werewolf's mate, there was still the matter of his obvious maleness to consider even if some arcane magic had made him able to carry Derek's cub.

 

Looking down at his mate and focusing he could single out their cub's scent even when it was intricately entwined with that of Stiles', no heartbeat yet, for it was all too soon. Not too soon for Stiles to fall over and not lose it, though. Which he'd almost done before even being made aware of being... pregnant.

 

Derek decided to join Stiles on his nap and try and figure out a way to tell his mate that he had knocked him up without permission and despite of the very male body Stiles had. There was room enough on the wide cough for Derek to snuggle behind Stiles and lay a hand over his still flat belly (Derek knew well enough how flat, for he'd licked all over it that very morning while Stiles writhed under him), Stiles made a small noise in his sleep and his hand joined Derek's. When their fingers entwined Stiles let out a happy contented noise. 

 

Before Derek buried his nose against the nape of his mate's neck he looked at the clear icicle shaped fairy lights hung on the opposite wall, over the fireplace the couch was facing. They did look rather ornamental and not too flashy and looked almost real icicles when juxtaposed over the oak walls. The sight of them was comforting and maybe, just maybe, Stiles wouldn't blow up when Derek told him of the cub.

 

It was as good a thought as any to fall into slumber to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also written for the fairy lights prompt as none of the other's fitted.


	3. Hale Family Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up from his nap and reminisces about his and Derek's life. Then he gets hungry and Derek tries to bribe him with hot chocolate made according to the Secret Hale Family recipe...
> 
> Prompt for this part was, not so surprisingly, hot chocolate.

When Stiles woke up it was to a warm body pressed against his back and hands wrapped around him and the sense and scent of Derek in his mind. It didn't feel immediately sexual, waking up like that with Derek's front pressed all over his front, Stiles' ass pressed to Derek's crotch, but mostly just comforting and familiar, necessary and quantifiable, a connection of minds not just mere bodies. 

Mates, intertwined through heart, head and soul, part of each other so deep there was no separating the two of them.

“Have a good nap?” Derek asked, voice sleep-rough and sexy, breath hot and ticklish against Stiles' ear. 

One of his hands was splayed over Stiles' lower belly with Stiles' own fingers intertwined with his and there was something in that, some deeper significance which Stiles was sure he was supposed to, could almost, grasp if he applied himself diligently enough. But the past week had passed in a haze of good sex, awesome cuddles and hourly declarations of love and affection, enough to distract Stiles from trying to use his brain to figure out what Derek wasn't telling him, what the real reason behind his over-protectiveness was. That and the fatigue which had been more constant part of his life even before his finals, before he'd come back home. He never seemed to get enough sleep.

Stiles could have understood it if he'd been sleeping a lot with having sexy dreams about Derek but he hadn't. He'd just not dreamed at all or could only remember a sense of deep contentedness when he woke up, woke up in a too narrow, empty bed bereft of his mate, the place where Derek should have been sleeping cold and Derekless. Suffice to say that Stiles' autumn semester hadn't been all sun and rainbows. He'd missed Derek a fuck-ton whenever his grumpy Alphamate hadn't been in residence. And he knew that Derek had a pack, that there were packmates counting on him back in Beacon Hills, a territory to protect and a pack to keep safe, even when some of them were scattered in other parts of the country for their degree's. But there was still the core of Derek's pack residing in Beacon Hills and keeping their territory safe: Erica and Boyd were getting degree's from the near-by college while Isaac was also at Berkeley (Stiles often suspected it was at Derek's behest, with Isaac acting as a body-guard of sorts for Stiles) and then there was Stiles' dad and Ms McCall, Scott had gone away into UCLA with Allison and was living with her. Stiles was often envious of them for getting to do that while Stiles was at Berkley and away from his mate all the way back in Beacon Hills. Lydia had got into MIT and was frightening the masses with her intellect while Jackson had somehow got into Harward, Stiles still wasn't sure how he'd wrangled that.

What was his point again? Right. Stiles snuggles more firmly against Derek's ridiculously cuddly and warm front and looks at the way the fairy lights twinkle from the opposite wall where he and Derek had put them up. They really do look great against the mahogany wall, like they were real. He moves their intertwined fingers over his belly, wondering why it seems to calm him, make the anxiety go away. Their hands clasped together are like an amalgamation of all that is _them_ , safehomefamilypackmatelove. 

He's been silent for too long.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, a note of worry in his tone, just so deeply buried that only an expert in Derek-speak, someone like Stiles, is able to spot it. There is this minute of minutest hitch which can only be caught by listening very carefully. Also, Derek's fingers, those intertwined with Stiles', squeeze a little, which is all sorts of wonderful and sweet. Right. Perfect.

Stiles presses his cheek onto the cushion beneath his head and sighs because he wants this, him and Derek, doesn't want to even think about how, two weeks from now, he'll be back at Berkeley and not here with Derek's warm strong arms around him. “Yeah,” he replies, giving Derek's hand a reassuring squeeze. “But now I'm peckish.”

He feels Derek chuckle as well as hears him, “Well, let's start with hot chocolate and then make our way into something else, yeah?”

Stiles moves quicker than he thought he could move in the lazy post-nap haze he's still in and is facing Derek in next to no time. He kinda misses the hands over his stomach but the idea of hot chocolate is _perfect_ and he has to know. “Secret Hale family recipe ho chocolate?” he demands.

And is suddenly taken aback by the look on Derek's face. Vulnerable and so so loving, like Derek would die if Stiles is away from him for more than a little while, quickly covered by a bemused smile. Then Derek is leaning in to kiss him and reeling him in so that they're pressed together as Derek kisses the breath out of him. “Anything for you, mate...” Derek growl-rumbles against his lips when they come apart. He leans in closer and nuzzles at Stiles' neck, scenting him, hands trailing over his body and just seemingly basking in their connectedness.

They only come apart when Stiles' stomach starts to growl insistently. 

Derek helps Stiles up from the couch, keeping him close when the sudden rise makes him momentarily woozy as blood rushes in his ears. Stiles leans to him unabashedly, not caring about anything but that Derek is always there for him, always keeping him up and helping him as he has been there for Derek, doing the same things for him in turn. Because that's what mates are. They take care of one another, give support when needed and take the support they are given. Derek is under his skin, in every nook of his heart, in his very bones. When he focuses he can almost see the link binding them together, a ribbon binding their souls together, stretched too tight, uncomfortably so, and pulling at them to get them where they ought to be every second of every day they spend too far apart.

Stiles should be frightened by the intensity of their togetherness but he is not. He is what and who he's supposed to be and with whom he is meant to be and his life is full. Out of their pack him and Derek are the only ones who have been insane enough to try and stretch their matebond to its limit which has resulted in them both being miserable and being extra-clingy when they're together. Case in point: Stiles has spent the past week solely with Derek as every single time he had even suggested they go out a little or invite someone over his Alpha has distracted him with sex. So even when he and dad are in the same town now they've yet to even see one another. He's not seen anyone but Derek for the past week. Which is both wonderful and a little bit creepy, to be honest.

Derek's possessiveness kind of reminds him of their first summer when Derek was monopolizing him at the cost of everyone else in the pack, staking his claim and “solidifying their mate-bond” he'd told Stiles at the time. So maybe this is some sort of mate-thing which Derek is being real close mouthed about.

Stiles sits on the counter as Derek makes the hot chocolate according to the Secret Hale family recipe. Stiles is the only one who ever really gets to have this hot chocolate, though sometimes he shares sneaky sips with Scott or his dad. But this mug-full he has all to himself, warming his fingers on it as he holds it between his hands, looking at Derek sipping at his own. Wonderful sexy Derek who is all of the hot and seems so nervous suddenly... 

...and who's, oh, putting down his own mug and proceeding to raid the cupboards for a sandwich for Stiles. Which ends up a ridiculous affair with cheese, lettuce, three different types of breakfast meat, with tomato and cucumber slices stuck in between. Most of the stuffing’s are dripping all over the place, to be honest, but Stiles accepts the sandwich because he's _starving_ and Derek looks so goddamned serious about giving it to him. What surprises Stiles even more is how fast he chows it down.

When it's finished, they are sitting side by side at the kitchen table and Derek is fidgedly drinking the last of his hot chocolate and Stiles knows he needs to confront him.

“So, despite that hot chocolate being orgasmically good and the sandwich enough to feed a small family, enough with the diversions. Want to tell me why you're acting all over-protective and are keeping me all to yourself in the den?”


	4. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tells Stiles the truth.
> 
> prompt: presents by kiramaru7. I'm sorry this was so angsty!

 

Derek _blushes._ He knows it both by the feel of his cheeks heating up and from the way Stiles is looking at him. Stiles had a special face he had on when Derek is blushing, which he has on his face right at that very moment. Derek does not often wish the floor would open and swallow him so he was spared of humiliation or talking about his feelings, he wants it to do so now, wants it so badly.

 

Stiles has caught him on his bullshit and he had to face the music.

 

“Well…” Derek begins, hesitant and cagey. He’s somewhat sure that Stiles won’t hate him yet there is a first time for everything. He can hear Stiles’ heartbeat ratchet up, which isn’t something he needs to hear right now. His wolf is whining in distress at the way his mate’s heart sounds. Yet there Stile is, leaning towards him, drawn to Derek, to his Alphamate. It calms him. “Promise me you won’t blow up,” Derek continues and chastises himself for his word choice as it’s sure to make Stiles do just that.

 

“Oh-my-god,” Stiles throws up his arms, “you cannot say that and _not expect_ me to do nothing!” Luckily he’s put down his mug already, so there isn’t ceramics and hot sloshing chocolate flying all over the kitchen. He gets up, though, and starts pacing about, arms gesticulating wildly as he goes. “You’ve been keeping me cooped up in here since the moment I arrived and I haven’t seen anyone but you for the whole time. It’s some stupid Alpha-shit, isn’t it?”

 

Derek cannot get up, cannot look at Stiles, for he is ashamed. Starting a family should be something they’re both agreeing in, a joyous thing and he feels like he’s trapping Stiles, has cheated him into this, into creating their cub. Though, in Derek’s defense, a pregnancy like Stiles’, a male alphamate carrying a cub created with the aid of magic, does not always take, never mind the right phase of the moon. So Derek could not have known, not for sure, that what he’d been thinking about and what had followed after would be the start of their family.

 

“You remember that night a few months back?” he asks with a very small voice, eyes strained on the table top. He nigh flinches when a hand comes down onto his shoulder, rubbing at the tension there, but settles.

 

“Yeah…” Stiles’ tone is wistful with a hint of arousal and there is a definite spike in his scent, an alluring quality on his base-scent which is calling out to Derek’s baser instincts. The same instincts which have had him hiding Stiles to himself and from everyone, even if part of it had been because if any other pack member had smelled Stiles they would have known about the cub and could have blurted the truth out before Derek could.

 

“You remember I… knotted you?” Derek almost whispers, his tone rough, his body pliant under the touch of Stiles’ deft fingers, which are kneading out the knots in his shoulders.

 

Stiles presses closer, hands more insistent on Derek’s shoulders and he just turns Derek into mush. “That was one of the hottest things we’ve ever done, I came so hard I fainted, remember?” Stiles says, his arousal evident now in his voice and in the spike of his heart and in the wash of his turned-on scent which is enveloping Derek. “And then you were still so _big_ ,” Stiles moves and wriggles onto Derrek’s lap between the table and his chest, “and I rode you until I was sore and fucking exhausted.”

 

Derek is now hard too, with the way Stiles had been talking and wafting his arousal all over him, things not helped by how Stiles _grinds_ down on his lap. But he also knows that he needs to keep this discussion going, needs to wrench it back on track. Stiles’ lips on his, hands around his neck, body astride his lap, are not helping matters. It would be so easy, though, to just go with the flow and surrender to his desires, have Stiles sex him up and postpone things.

 

But Derek can’t. For he is getting itchy without his pack around them, without them to welcome the new arrival, though yet unborn, into their fold, and keeping Stiles away from his father for any real amount of time is near enough criminal with the amount of love between the two Stilinski men. So he wrenches himself away from Stiles’ lips on his own, which is a crime in and of itself. Also, decidedly difficult to do when Stiles whines the way he does, like Derek is doing him physical harm drawing away from a kiss, and clinging to him for all he’s worth, which is actually a lot as he draws on Derek’s strength as his mate.

 

“Stiles,” Derek growl-moans when Stiles pays dirty and _wriggles_ , ”we were having an important discussion.”

 

Stiles shakes his head and wriggles some more over Derek’s lap. “Nothing is more important than making out.”

 

“Not even you being pregnant with my cub?” Derek unintentionally lets slip.

 

Everything stops. Stiles’ heart stops, as does Derek’s. Their hands are frozen on each other and Stiles is staring right at Derek, looking utterly confused, but with the edges of his lips quickly quirking up and a laughter starting to bubble inside of him, Derek can tell.

 

“You’re not serious, are you?” Stiles asks and the words are like a knife thrust into Derek’s gut, a serrated blade lazed with wolf’s bane. “I’m a man.” But Stiles does not laugh, when he sees whatever expression Derek is wearing.

 

Derek cannot speak, cannot utter another word for he fears if he does, he’ll just blurt out something that needs to not be blurted out again. His hands are shaking where he’s holding onto Stiles, as he looks at him, figuring it out. He sees Stiles looking down at his stomach, sees his brows furrow, observes him when Stiles looks back up and takes in whatever he sees on Derek’s face. And Derek knows Stiles knows he’s telling the truth, because their bond magnifies some of Stiles’ senses, though their having been so much apart since summer the strengthened senses have dulled somewhat.

 

Stiles’ voice is small when he speaks next, with no hint of the earlier mirth in it, just… hopefulness. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

 

Derek listens carefully, so carefully, and hears nothing but Stiles’ elevated heartbeat and hears the tones of his voice. “Yes. There was this special moon and I wished…”

 

Then Stiles is crushing him in a fiercely tight hug, crying and laughing, his emotions an overwhelming, jubilant and scared mess as they pour all over Derek. “This is the best present ever!”

 

Derek hugs him back and joins in the laughing and crying, clinging to Stiles because he _needed_ this to be alright, needed it so badly. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you sooner?”

 

“Only if you were waiting for me to figure it out on my own, you weren’t, right?” Stiles answers, his hands not relinquishing their death-grip on Derek.

 

Derek snuggles against Stiles’ neck, breathing him in to calm himself. Their matebond has been thrown wide open and he knows that his mate is excited and scared, a little bit pissed, confused and confrontational and also still aroused, though he can also feel _that_ against himself. “I wasn’t,” he tells Stiles, “I was just scared you’d feel like I’d trapped you.”

 

Stiles takes hold of his face and makes Derek look at himself. “You didn’t and never have you ever trapped me into anything,” he says to Derek in no uncertain terms, ”sure, it would’ve been nice if you’d told about this to me before, but I’m all aboard now. Family is _everything._ ”

“I only smelled it on you when you came home,” Derek admits, “I couldn’t have before, it wasn’t big enough to scent.”

 

Stiles hum’s, shifts a little where he’s perched on Derek’s lap. Derek is still hard under him, or hard again, as he’d deflated a bit when he thought Stiles would yell at him, and all he wants to do now, when Stiles’ assent is in the words he says and in the arousal in the air, is to fill Stiles. There is a part of him which also idly thinks how nice it would be if that certain moon was in the sky now and, if Stiles fucked him, there could be another cub, which he could bear himself. But Stiles is speaking and grabbing Derek back from his internal wonderings: “Which is why you jumped me when I got in and wouldn’t let me out and why…”

 

Stiles’ arousal deflates and his whole body goes still, his face is ashen as he’s looking at Derek with horror written clear on his face. His hands are gripping at Derek’s Henley tight enough for the fabric to tear as Derek’s power roils into him. “I fucking almost lost it before I even _knew_ because you fucking didn’t _tell_ me…” And the ire is back and anger with it, no confusion at all in how Stiles is feeling when shocked horror is replaced with those more active emotions. But then Stiles veers back into shock again and his voice is small, so small, and frightened. “I almost lost this _gift_ , your stupid silence almost lost _us_ our cub…”

 

Derek holds Stiles as he breathes in air, great gulps of it never seeming to be enough, for such is the nature of a panic attack. And Derek curses himself for being so stupid, for keeping this to himself for too long. Stiles had every right to know and Derek, as his mate, had every reason to tell him. He runs soothing hands over Stiles’ back in circles, round and round and round, until Stiles draws in a shaky breath and then another, his heartbeat getting more normal by each and every one.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmurs and sobs into Stiles’ neck, overwhelmed by the emotion bleeding through their bond, sorrowful because of his own stupidity, only now crying the shock he had felt earlier when he’d seen Stiles falling. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

 

“You’d better,” Stiles finally whispers, spent and exhausted, “our cub needs better parents than what we’ve already been. Also, honesty. No holding anything back, ever.”


	5. There's a Bun in My Oven, So We Cannot Fuck Up Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is trying to get his thoughts in order after he's been told he's pregnant and what that will mean. Derek sheds some light conserning the magic which made it all possible. A dinner is proposed.
> 
> I don't even know about the title! This was written with the "presents" prompt.

 

Stiles is exhausted. He had thought he’d cured Derek from his unfortunate tendency to keep stuff back, had thought that Derek would _always_ tell him about the important stuff now, but in the wake of Derek’s _epic fail_ on that score he knows he needs to have a serious talk with him. Sure, there are Derek’s alphasenses which are a mitigating factor but the big broody alpha still should have told Stiles. He never would have gotten up on that rickety dodgy step-ladder if he’d know.

 

That’s why he had the panic attack: the mere thought of family and how easily _his child_ could have been gone before he even got to know it had punched him in the gut. The fact that the revelation came in the heels of finding out Derek had werewolfmagicked him into being pregnant despite his incompatible biology had not helped matters one teeny tiny bit. Because that, that is _huge._ There has been some bleed-through with him being mated to a frikking alpha, like him drawing on Derek’s strength or being able to heal quicker as long as Derek’s near enough, and the ability to sometimes sense what his broodywolf is feeling, but Derek knocking him up when he doesn’t have the appropriate… plumbing really takes the cake for weirdest thing ever.

 

His hand wants to snake down over his stomach in the same kind of reverent gesture which Derek had used earlier. Derek’s general overprotectiveness over the last week is really helping Stiles to settle into the situation, even when it’s not one he ever could have dreamed himself in being in. He’d always thought that him and Derek becoming parents would include surrogacy or adoption, not a child consisting of them _both._ Never in his wildest dreams had Stiles dared imagine such a thing as happening.

 

Because Derek had _never hinted of something like this being possible!_ Which was something Stiles was going to chew Derek over, when he had the chance. Which was not, for now was decidedly not the time. Not when Stiles had just found out, was still reeling from the panic attack.

 

Derek sighs, long and deep, his own frustration with himself clearly ringing through the sound of it. It makes it really hard for Stiles to be angry with him. Not when Derek has given him, _them,_ this gift of a child which is theirs.

 

Stiles is steadfastly trying to keep himself in the moment because he knows that he cannot, _cannot_ start thinking about what will happen in the coming months, being pregnant (and how weird _is_ his life when being a dude who’s pregnant is part of the equation of becoming parents) and then… the birth. So maybe he stokes his anger a little to focus his thoughts on the here and now instead of the how and when he tells Derek they need to become better parents.

 

“I know I’m fucking up,” Derek replies, voice lost and small, partly because he’s losing the words into Stiles’ neck, breathing raggedly against the skin there.

 

Stiles decides that him straddling Derek isn’t the best position, also, the joints in his hips are starting to complain a bit with the way his legs are stretched over Derek’s ridiculous thighs and hips. So, he starts getting up.

 

“Wait, what?” Derek protests, hands holding onto Stiles as he tries to disentangle himself, “Stiles?”

 

Stiles takes hold of Derek’s hands and peels them off of him and… Derek lets him. “I’m just getting up,” he soothes, “before I pop a joint or something.”

 

Derek complies, even helps him up and they stand by the table for a bit, looking at each other, both with similar exhausted looks on their faces. Derek is looking at Stiles completely differently now, his overprotectiveness more open, his eyes lingering where their cub resides. “Can I?” he asks, hesitant, hand already reaching out, his un-surety bleeding through to Stiles, as they cannot seem to be able to shut the emotional link between them or dampen it, not yet.

 

Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat and he feels bad for lashing out even if some of his surprised anger _was_ justified and he reaches out in turn, putting Derek’s hand over his stomach, holding it in place with his own two. Both of them look down, then, looking at the hands, focusing on them and what is there and … Stiles gasps when he feels it, catches the small whiff of their cub, like he can smell Derek, feels the life as a small flicker within him. He stumbles a little bit with it, Derek’s other hand steadying him.

 

“I can feel it…” he says, awed.

 

He looks up eyes linking with Derek’s and brims over with how joyous he feels, like he cannot contain it, he feels like he’s bursting at the seams.

 

Derek looks back at him, a little flummoxed, “You can?” he asks, hands settling more firmly against what is still a flat stomach.

 

Stiles’ mind goes off on a tangent on how odd it is that he isn’t showing yet, doesn’t feel pudgy or hasn’t had any sort of morning-sickness even when he _is_ pregnant. Feeling that small spark of life with the heightened senses of an alpha’s mate has made it so so real and… “We have to tell dad!” he blurts out.

 

Derek grimaces. “Do we have to this soon?”

 

Stiles puts on his stern face, though he knows it doesn’t really work on Derek, he just hopes it’ll work on their cub. “We are telling him, he’s my dad and pack. Also, you’ll be the one telling me you sneakpregnanted me without asking, too.”

 

Derek fucking _whines_ , all canine and so hilarious Stiles had to laugh. “Yeah, you’re the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills allright…”

 

“Well, I am imagining him with a shot-gun because I got you pregnant out of wedlock and before you’d even graduated…” Derek replies with, not losing his lost puppy expression or tone.

 

Stiles moves and hugs him, Derek’s hand trapped between them. “He’d never shoot you, don’t worry. Though the thought of me becoming a parent this young might cause a heart-attack. Maybe.” He cocks his head and looks at Derek. “You’ve been having those weekly lunches with him, not me, so tell me he’s been sticking to his diet?”

 

Derek looks at him with a serious face. “I have. He’s been sticking to the diet and has taken up running.”

 

Stiles beams. “Yay, so he’ll have the stamina to keep up with this little bundle of joy when it starts running,” he then turns thoughtful, “wait, can you tell if it’s gonna be a werebaby?”

 

Derek grimaces. “Our cub is not to be called a _werebaby_ , Stiles,” he growls, getting back to his alpha-ggoove. He becomes hesitant, then. “But it will be a werewolf, all cubs conceived like this are were, for what other point would there be for such magic?”

 

And Stiles understands. “Ahh, so it’s to keep the bloodline of a pack’s alpha running true, right. Guess that makes sense.” He frowns. “Please tell me,” he enunciates with a tone to cut ice with, “that our baby isn’t just a Hale-pack progeny, that you did this out of some instinct and need to keep the bloodline going?”

 

Derek blanches. “How can you think that, Stiles?” His hand on Stiles’ belly curls over that special spot protectively. “I just wanted a family with you. I wasn’t even sure it would take. I’m sorry I’m screwing this up so badly.”

 

Stiles sighs again. “Come on,” he tugs Derek with him back into the living room and onto the couch, “I’m not mad at you.” He tells Derek. Then revises, “well, not much. But I believe that you didn’t knock me up because of some idea to rebuild the Hale pack from scratch with our cub as the first new member, as we’ve already done it.”

 

He notices how happy it makes Derek when he refers to them _together_ building up the pack. Stiles may not have a hand in picking up whom Derek bit back when they were still all in high school but he has had a part, as the alpha mate, in knitting them together into a cohesive whole. And he suddenly feels the pang of missing them all over again, as he’s really reaching his limit, especially with how he can _feel_ their lingering presence in the house, can also somewhat scent them too.

 

“We’re having the pack over for dinner tonight,” he tells Derek, snuggling against his side on the couch. “But first, we’ll go shopping, as I’ve just figured how to tell dad without it compromising his heart-health.”

 

“I’m going to hate it, aren’t I?” Derek asks as he draws him closer to his side, a bit of a rumble in his voice and his anxiety pouring over Stiles, telling him how anxious he is to stop being inside this cocoon they’ve lived in for the past week.

 

“Maybe… But we need the pack with us, now more than ever,” Stiles tells him. Then he realizes and wonder why on earth it took this long to catch up. “This’ll be the first cub into the pack, it’ll get so spoiled rotten!”

 

Derek’s laugh is a joyous thing to hear.


	6. Scent is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles go shopping at the Beacon Hills Mall. When they come home Stiles has ideas on how to cover his pregnant-scent so they can tell the others in their own time.

 

They go shopping.

 

In the wake of the week during which Derek kept him cooped up in their house it’s a sort of an anticlimax, really, Stiles thinks. But it’s a necessary anti-climax as the house is short on food. Sure, just the two of them could have survived for another half a week easily but their cupboards and freezer could not have yielded the amount to feed the whole pack. Also, Stiles is puckish enough often enough that he might have decimated their food stock quicker than anticipated. Derek had explained it as a good sign, the magic which was supporting the pregnancy needed a lot of life-energy to function and so Stiles really needed to eat as often as possible because otherwise the magic would have started to draw on his normal reserves which would not have ended good.

 

Derek had tried to keep Stiles in the house by suggesting they order in but Stiles had given him a _look_ which, in his mind, said it all. No child of his was going to get fed take-away during its gestation. Stiles only felt a teensy tiny pang over having to forgo his beloved curly-fries for the foreseeable future.

 

As they were driving into Beacon Hills Mall the thought springs into Stiles’ mind, as he had been pondering over keeping his body healthy for as long as he’s pregnant for. “Am I going to get boobs?”

 

The tires screech as Derek grips the steering wheel and instinctively pushes on the breaks, luckily they’re in a low-traffic part of the road in a low-traffic time of the day, as the holidays have not really begun yet just a week shy of Christmas. “What?” he asks, sounding kind of overwrought. Also: incredulous.

 

“Boobs,” Stiles gestures at his flat masculine chest, “for, you know, _breastfeeding_.”

 

Derek drives on, eyes on the road in a very familiar diversionary tactic. “I don’t… know. Would you want to?”

 

Stiles looks at Derek and then down at his stomach _where his baby is_. “I don’t know, just, the thought popped into my mind. Gimme some leeway, I only found out I was pregnant two hours ago. Despite my biology, I might add.”

 

There’s warmth coming from Derek and Stiles, Stiles thinks that maybe Derek is thinking of him with their cub, feeding it from his own body. And he’s most surprised that the idea of it doesn’t disturb him as much as he thought it might, must be a werewolf-mate thing. The fierce protective love he already feels for what is mostly a cluster of cells inside of him is a little bit frightening, though, mostly because how quickly Stiles is feeling it, especially since he didn’t even think about kids before graduation.

 

“And so you instantly think about breast-feeding,” Derek wonders, though what is there to wonder, for he knows all too well the ways in which Stiles’ mind wonders.

 

Stiles tells him as much. “You know my thoughts, always going off in tangents.”

 

They relapse into comfortable silence after that, both their thoughts lingering on the cob, or so Stiles wants to think, with the way Derek seems to grow more and more uncomfortable the closer they get to the mall. With the way Derek kept him cooped up there isn’t a doubt in Stiles’ mind of how much Derek wants to keep him away from such a place with the scents and sounds of people who aren’t _pack_ , who are all, to Derek in his crazy alpha-overprotectiveness, potential threats.

 

He lays a hand over Derek’s when they’ve parked and his alphamate seems and _feels_ like he’s ready to lose it all and drive Stiles back to the house and shop alone. “Come on, it’ll be fine. I even came up with a way to tell dad which will be super awesome,” he tells Derek.

 

Derek draws him near over the gear-shift and kisses the breath out of him, hungry for him. He lingers, drags his nose over Stiles’ cheeks and jaw, scenting him. Stiles repays him in kind. “Okay?” he finally asks.

 

“Okay,” Derek agrees.

 

*

 

Derek _hates_ what Stiles came up with to cover his scent, their _cub’s_ scent, so that they’d get to tell it on their own time. He _aches_ to be able to smell Stiles as he is and the aftershave Stiles sprinkled over himself seems to smell even viler than what aftershaves usually do to Derek’s sensitive werewolf nose.

 

“I don’t like this,” he grumbles as Stiles is cooking at the stove. Usually the sight of his mate preparing food is a source of pride to his baser instincts, that he’s caught a mate who’ll keep them both in good food, but the aftershave is messing the scent-image and his senses up.

 

Stiles whips around, wearing an apron which proclaims ‘Kiss the Cook’ in front, holding his ladle like a sword, “I want to be able to tell them in _words_ , not have them _smell_ it on me,” he tells Derek, the ladle dripping Chili onto the floor. It’s a rich, very meaty Chili, cooked on a slow burn, the scent of it making Derek salivate, what of it he can smell over the aftershave.

 

“Can’t you go shower it off,” he whines, pleading, “it’s making my nose itch. With all the food smells they won’t scent it one you right away anyway.” He knows that he’s making a disgustingly forlorn face, but he can’t help it. Not being able to scent the soft scent of their cub is like a knife in his chest.

 

Stiles’ face melts and his emotions flicker through in warm concern and he puts the ladle back into the Chili before coming over. He winds his arms around Derek’s neck, buffeting him with the aftershave in the process, but his base scent it more acute this close too, so Derek bears it. “I’m sorry, mate,” he tells Derek. He must know, must feel, what his smelling so _wrong_ is doing to Derek.

 

Derek is leaning closer, to scent at the spot behind Stiles’ ear where his base scent is uncorrupted, when he sees Stiles leering at him.

 

“If I go shower it off, will you help me?” he winks, settling his leg between Derek’s and shuffling it about a little.

 

“You need to ask?” Derek replies, but then his eyes settle on the stove where the Chili is cooking, “Will that burn, though?”

 

Stiles follows his gaze and shakes his head, “It’ll keep, I’ll put it on the lowest setting. And I already made the salad so all that’s needs is the rice.”

 

Derek follows Stiles hands on his hips in a way he knows isn’t helpful, when Stiles fiddles with the settings and covers the big pot with a lid, leaving the Chili to simmer.

 

At the kitchen doorway Stiles turns in his arms and draws him in for a long deep kiss. “We have an hour and a half before they get here,” he whispers against Derek’s lips when they part, “the rice is quick so it cooks for only fifteen, so we got an hour…”

Derek growls and grabs him up into his arms and runs upstairs, Stiles’ delighted giggle music to his ears.


	7. Derek Hale, Scent-Perv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: pink cheeks. I interpreted the prompt rather loosely...

pink cheeks

 

Derek presses Stiles against the slippery sudsy wall of their shower, caging him in with his body, one hand bracketing his head and the other holding onto his hip. He’s kissing Stiles feverishly, an insistent throb in his groin where he’s hard, very hard, against Stiles’ erection. With every last bit of the offending after-shave stench watched off of Stiles’ body he’d gotten more and more frantic, _needing_ to have Stiles.

 

“Scent-perv…” Stiles is whimpering as Derek draws a hickey onto his neck. It’s one of a matching set, one blooming all out and proud on Stiles’ left shoulder. Stiles’ legs shake and his arousal thrums in the hot humid air.

 

They were going to fuck but things got a little too heated for that to be an option all too quickly, not that it’s a hardship, really. And this is better, Derek is happy with any way he can have Stiles and himself to orgasm. With the way Derek’s thoughts have been running, he may have knotted Stiles in the shower, which would not have ended well. (The pleasure of _that_ is always so keen, too keen, for Derek to keep his wits about him and Stiles could have gotten hurt.)

 

Derek growls against his skin, “Stiles…” lips sucking at the flesh beneath them. He’s immersing himself in how good it feels to have Stiles like this, to do this to him, to stake his claim so _everyone_ will know, will _see_. Stiles shudders under his lips, hips twitching, dick leaking against Derek’s, his scent drowning everything under it. His enjoyment is also also pulsing through their connection, his delight in Derek’s closeness thrumming through Derek’s body _._

 

“Come on,” Stiles whimpers, bucking up, slipping a little on the wet tile, Derek steadies him instantly. He’ll not have him fall over and crack his head, hurt their _cub._ “Derek…” His voice is _wrecked_ and Derek knows he’s close, so close, body tight with it.

 

He feels it, Stiles’ feelings mixing with his own so much that he feels like he’s close too. And he is, he _is._ He’s hyperaware of their surroundings, of the water beating at his back, his mates little gasps and moans singing in his ears.

 

Derek’s lips trails up, up Stiles’ neck, his jaws, his cheek until they find his lips, he swallows Stiles’ gasps as his other hand comes down, petting and rubbing at his erection. It pulses against his palm, flutters against his fingers as he strokes, as he coaxes Stiles’ orgasm from him with every minute shift and press.

 

Stiles bites to his lip when he comes, seconds later, hands grasping at Derek’s shoulders, deep enough to bruise.

 

Derek leans into him, hand wet and sticky with Stiles’ come, he feels content and happy, Stiles’ post-coital euphoria washing over and into him. He feels like he’s already come, too, even when his dick is throbbing and aching. He’s helpless, rutting in the mess between them, sliding through the slippery remains of Stiles’ release. Stiles keens, oversensitive, but isn’t pushing Derek away.

 

His mate’s commitment to Derek’s pleasure even in the face of his own, even if momentary, discomfort is what makes Derek clench and come as he slides against Stiles’ softening dick.

 

The shower sprays water over them but doesn’t cover the sound of their labored breaths nor dull the way their hearts are still beating quick and loud. Derek is cradling Stiles in his arms, keeping him upright, for his legs are threatening to give in under him. Finally, he moves a little, looking at the flush over Stiles’ cheeks, somewhat sure that a similar flush is coating his own cheeks too.

 

Stiles takes in a long gulp, trying to steady his breathing, hands holding onto Derek’s arms, tight and comforting. “Well, I guess no-one will smell anything but sex on us, right?”

 

Derek laughs and kisses the smart-ass out of him.


	8. The One With the Onesie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has gone back to being what Stiles is calling fidgety but what Derek deems anxious, for his instincts seem to be going haywire again. Never mind that Stiles reeks of him, Derek’s scent sunk into him pores-deep, but the small flutter which Derek can feel is making him more and more hesitant and overprotective by the second. It’s not a heart-beat it’s too soon for that, but a tiny flutter of life. And Derek knows that none of his pack would ever lay a hand on Stiles to harm him yet he can’t seem to believe that about his cub, too. Their cub.
> 
> Stiles looks at him like he knows, and of course he does, they’ve been throwing the bond wide open today so much it’s kind of impossible to try and shut it off even a little bit. Stiles doesn’t smell hesitant at all. He’s lacing their fingers together as they stand side by side in the foyer. “It’ll be fine,” he tells Derek. “You’ll just see.” Stiles is elated, excited, jumpy with it, nigh shaking out of his skin with nervous energy. 
> 
> Prompt: Disastrous Christmas dinner.

 

”This is a bad, bad idea,” Derek tells Stiles when they’re waiting for their pack to arrive. They have managed to keep their hands off of one another after their ‘naughty shower’ (Stiles’ term, not Derek’s).

 

Derek has gone back to being what Stiles is calling fidgety but what Derek deems anxious, for his instincts seem to be going haywire again. Never mind that Stiles _reeks_ of him, Derek’s scent sunk into him pores-deep, but the small flutter which Derek can feel is making him more and more hesitant and overprotective by the second. It’s not a heart-beat it’s too soon for that, but a tiny flutter of _life_. And Derek _knows_ that none of his pack would ever lay a hand on Stiles to harm him yet he can’t seem to believe that about his cub, too. _Their cub_.

 

Stiles looks at him like he _knows_ , and of course he does, they’ve been throwing the bond wide open today so much it’s kind of impossible to try and shut it off even a little bit. Stiles doesn’t smell hesitant at all. He’s lacing their fingers together as they stand side by side in the foyer. “It’ll be fine,” he tells Derek. “You’ll just see.” Stiles is elated, excited, jumpy with it, nigh shaking out of his skin with nervous energy.

 

Derek _knows_ how much Stiles wants to share the news. His free hand trails where it always trails now, over Stiles’ belly, where their _cub_ is, settling it just on the spot. The touching calms him somewhat but he’s still itchy, unsettled. He wants to continue keeping Stiles all to himself so no-one can see, scent, _touch._ A growl slips from his throat, unbidden. He shakes his head, frustrated.

 

“I don’t,” he says, fingers clamping at Stiles’ tighter, almost too tight. He whimpered for he _never_ wanted to hurt Stiles, ever. “Oh fuck Stiles ---“

 

Stiles shuts him mid-sentence. “If you _dare_ say ‘want anyone to touch you, I _will_ smack you! No way you’d smack me back”.

 

Derek’s grip on his hand loosened to normal. He scowls, cannot help it, really. There’s no way he’d hurt Stiles. He’d chew off his own arm first. A slender-fingered hand takes hold of his face where it’s strayed to look _away_ rather than _at_ Stiles and turns it to look at his mate.

 

“It’ll be _fine_ , _”_ Stiles reassures him, his conviction steady and firm in his tone. He holds onto Derek’s face and draws him nearer, until they’re kissing and it’s _everything_. It’s sort of chaste but at the same time _hungry_. So very hungry... It’s making them both, not just Derek because he can tell from the upward tick of Stiles’ heart, want more, want to go back upstairs and wrap themselves round each other and just… They come apart, eventually and all too soon. “Dad will go _nuts_ ” Stiles tells Derek, his brown chocolate eyes looking up at Derek mischievously.

 

Derek had lost most of his apprehension and need to protect and hide Stiles from _anyone_ during this kiss but Stiles’ words bring it all back again. “Or he’ll go for my nuts because I didn’t tell you sooner and you won’t graduate.”

 

“Graduation is overrated,” Stiles scoff, though his heart skips a beat, his hand in Derek’s flinching. They’ve not really talked about _that_ in detail. At all, to be perfectly honest. Stiles is vaguely thinking about online-courses but there isn’t anything definite. Nothing solid. No decisions.

 

Stiles sighs after a while when Derek’s not said anything. “He won’t. You’re more family now than ever before. An _you_ are his alpha.” He looks up at Derek with bright bright eyes, the whiskey freckling with hints of red when he says: “Mate”.

 

Derek growls contentedly at that, leaning in and scenting his mate, his Stiles, nose trailing over his skin until lips find lips and they fall into a kiss. “But he _is_ you dad,” he tells Stiles, lips half an inch from his when they come apart after a long while and still too soon.

 

Stiles giggles: “Big broody overprotective Alpha Hale afraid of a human?”

 

Derek huffs. He squeezes the hand in his. “Always when it’s your dad.”

 

Stiles’ laughter still rings in his ears when he opens the door five minutes later.

 

*

 

The first to come are, surprisingly, Scott and Allison. Stiles smiles at his bro where Derek has him tugged against his side tightly and securely. It’s both cute and annoying how over-protective Derek is.

 

“Stiles!” Scott enthuses when they come in the door, Allison giving them a smile as she gives him a “Hey Stiles!” of her own.

 

“Hey buddy,” Stiles greets, receiving and giving a rather awkwardly executed one armed hug made difficult by the fact that Derek refuses to let go of him for even one second.

 

Scott had given them a sort of weird look but had been stopped from prying in when Lydia and Jackson arrive. After them come the rest, the last of them being Stiles’ dad, right off shift. Derek deigns to let go of Stiles for long enough that he can properly hug his dad. Well, Derek would say deign but they both know it was because Stiles threatened to tickle him. He knows all of Derek’s most ticklish spots, it’s a power that needs to only be used for good things. And always works too, because Derek cannot giggle in front of the pack, would ruin his image.

 

“Hey kiddo” his dad sighs as they hug and Stiles’ hands clamp around him tighter because _his dad doesn’t know_. He needs to, as soon as they’ve eaten, because Stiles’ empty stomach is trying to gnaw on itself.

 

“Hey dad,” Stiles sighs into his dad’s neck, “missed you.”

 

“Missed you too Stiles, care to tell me why you’ve been cooped up in here all week all alone with Derek?”

 

Stiles knows he blushes and he swears he can hear snickering from the dining room where the others better not have started on the food. “Well, we hadn’t seen each other for a while.”

 

“Yay, you had a week long orgy in here, the place stinks!” Jackson yells from the kitchen. His words are followed by a yelp as Lydia hopefully smacked him over the head.

 

“I heard that!” Stiles yells back, feeling Derek’s embarrassment through the bond. “Come on,” he tells his dad and starts leading him into the kitchen, “let’s go eat.”

 

And they do.

 

*

 

When it’s time for dessert Stiles looks at Derek who nods and Stiles gets up, all eyes intent on him.

 

“Right,” Stiles says when he has the small packet on his hands and is facing the table again, “I’ve something for dad and there’s something me and Derek need to tell.” There are at least two pairs of all-too-knowing eyes aimed at him. He fidgets with the thing in his hands and Derek gets up and comes to him, trialing him when Stiles goes to give the package to his dad.

 

The rest of the pack have intent eyes glued to the sheriff as he shakes the small onesie out of the gift wrap and holds it up. The silence in the room is so deafening you could hear a pin being dropped onto the floor. The onesie is forest green with the words “World’s best grampa!” printed on the front in large block letters. Dad’s hands are shaking as he takes it all in.

 

“So, me and Derek are having a cub, you’re gonna be a granddad, yay!” Stiles says and the whole room explodes into riotous, joyous chaos.


	9. How, what, that is not how biology even works?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a smallish snippet, sorry!

 

The beta’s, not Stiles’ dad because he’s awesome and above such nonsense, stare at them for one, two heartbeats, sniffing furiously at the air, gleaming golden eyes pinpointed into Stiles’ direction.

 

“Stiles? I… what?” His dad is getting up from his chair clutching at the onesie reverently like he thinks he’s going to break it, coming over to Stiles and drawing him into a gentle, careful hug. “Baby?” he asks with a hushed, awed tone and he’s… scent-marking Stiles.

 

Derek is growling at his wolves and is now growling at Stiles’ dad too, over such a small impasse it’s practically nothing in Stiles’ eyes.

 

In seconds, or so it seems, Stiles, Derek and dad are swamped in a pack group hug with excited hands patting at Stiles and furtive noses brushing slyly over his skin and Derek…

 

…Derek doesn’t blow up. Instead he rumbles sort of contentedly against Stiles’ ear, whatever overprotective freak out he’d been dreading apparently not happening in the end. He feels contented, settles, through their bond and it makes Stiles _so_ giddy he can barely stand it. He focuses on his dad, who’s still hugging him, who’s still being hugged by the wolves and assorted humans in the pack.

 

“Yeah, turns out that being an alpha’s mate can do… interesting things to your reproductive biology,” he tells his dad and then wishes he’d worded it a little different.

 

“TMI, Stiles,” Jackson informs from somewhere on his left, behind Derek’s back, “Details!” Lydia demands from Jackson’s side, making Stiles blush. It’s not that him and Derek haven’t been caught by one or two of the pack in potentially embarrassing situations, just that Stiles has been trying to block out those memories. Had been trying to do that really hard. “Was there knotting, you can tell your aunt Lydia, you know…”

 

“Lydia,” Stiles gasps as Derek growls her name out, putting his Alphaness behind the syllables rolling from his suddenly a little fanged mouth. His foul mood bleeds through the bond. “I have told you before, several times, in fact,” Stiles calmly informs her, “that I am not sharing the details of my sex life with you.”

 

Derek’s growling subsides but both his hands have now sneaked over Stiles’ belly, covering it protectively. “ _Mine._ ” he growls, sub-vocal, nearly low enough that Stiles didn’t hear and the pack, the pack bursts into giggles.

 

Well, anything’s better than claws out and fighting, Stiles muses.

 

He meets Scott’s eyes, his best bro hugging his dad from behind, flanked by Allison smiling at him with a wide dimpled smile, and Scott just _grins_. Then he pouts, just a bit, because this is still Scott, after all. “You didn’t tell me?” he whiiiiiines. Drags it out for all it’s worth, all wounded-puppy-like.

 

Stiles cocks his head which brings Derek’s snuffling nose right under his right ear and he does not get a little aroused at the sensual drag of it, he doesn’t. You simply don’t do that in puppy piles and not when he’s dad’s involved. “I’ve known all of, what, six hours, dude. Derek was …” and he swallows the rest of that sentence even when it’s obvious that Derek’s _known_ for longer than him.

 

“But how did? HOW, Stiles?” his dad is asking again, face a mix of confused happiness wrapped into joy.

 

Stiles meets his eyes, pats at his dad’s back where he’s hugging him. “I’m not giving you details, dad. There’s some pack-magic involved, alpha magic, unsafe sex and Derek’s desire for me to have his babies.” He throws a glance over his shoulder at Derek, whose eyes are all Alpha red but not at all scary. “Though I do need to say that he did not take into account my lack of birthing hips.”

 

Derek kisses him quiet, just moving his head an inch so he can claim Stiles’ lips in a kiss which is as heated as it is chaste, as soft as it’s a claim, a declaration that no-one, _no-one_ , is to touch what is Derek’s. Stiles claims him right back.

 

It should feel weird, when they’re kissing in the middle of the pack group hug with Stiles being bracketed between Derek and dad but it just makes Stiles feel… safe. There’s something else too, the bond between him and Derek seems to widen, to broaden and open, flashing their emotions over, making them spill onto the betas.

 

There is a small flicker inside of him and just like that, without even thinking about it Stiles just _knows_ that his cub has been taken into the pack, into the fold of the love and loyalty they all share. He kisses Derek some more.


	10. Alpha, My Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Its old pack magic, bringing a new cub into the fold of the pack’s protection before it’s even been born. Derek remembers it from when he himself was still a kid. His hands do not let go of Stiles and he meets the sheriff’s eyes over Stiles’ shoulder and sees his own tears reflected in them."

 

Dessert is about to be consumed in due course after the packhug has dispersed, which took a long time and yet not long enough where Stiles was concerned. Only when they’re separating does Scott ask: Did everyone feel it?”

 

Derek’s heart aches at the question as he’d felt it too and knows Stiles has and can’t believe his pack felt it too. Its old pack magic, bringing a new cub into the fold of the pack’s protection before it’s even been born. Derek remembers it from when he himself was still a kid. His hands do not let go of Stiles and he meets the sheriff’s eyes over Stiles’ shoulder and sees his own tears reflected in them.

 

There is general, excited assent from the others, it mostly passes Derek by as the sheriff grabs him and Stiles into a tight hug. “Congratulations,” he tells them both, “I can’t even. I _felt_ it, a new pack member but that it’s _your_ baby. I wish Claudia was here to see this.”

 

And then Stiles is crying too, his old sorrow bleeding into Derek, sharp and bitter with this new joy in their lives, one which Claudia Stilinski cannot be a part of. Derek’s own sorrow mixes with Stiles’ because he, too, regrets that his own parents are not here to see this. Cora being his only living blood relative. “I know, dad,” Stiles says softly, “she’d have been thrilled.”

 

Scott has crept back up on them, offering Stiles a reassuring pat on the hand. Derek thinks that he should be growling, flinching at the way Scott is marking Stiles with his scent but he isn’t. He just feels right, like Stiles should smell like _pack_ instead of just _mate_ and _mine_. It must have been the lack of fresh pack scent on him when Derek had smelled the baby on him. Now it’s just contentment, the cub part of the pack bonds, knitting them all closer together than ever before and it’s wonderful.

 

“Dude, how _cool_ is this!” Scott tells Stiles for never would he call Derek _dude_ to his face or behind his back. Scott then turns to Derek, head cocked submissively, “Alpha.” And he _bows_.

 

It’s the first time Scott had called him alpha. Ever. Derek and Stiles’ cub is a miracle worker from the… womb. Derek give his brain a minute to try and wrap around the idea of thinking about Stiles with a womb and, while he knows one is necessary and had been provided for Stiles by the alphamate magic, it doesn’t make knowing about it any less strange.

 

Derek rumbles low from his throat and reaches out a hand to lay it on Scott at the junction of his neck and shoulder and just press, for a moment, eyes flashing red with Scott’s flashing golden back.

 

Jackson, of course, is the one to ruin the moment. “Are we eating dessert or what, it’s not that anyone’s never had a baby before.” Lydia cuts him off with a well-aimed kick, at least it sounds like what she does to shut him up.

 

“What Jackson means is that we’d both like to congratulate you on being on your way to parenthood and mounds of dirty diapers,” she ends with, because she _is_ Lydia. Always ready with a snap.

 

Stiles sniffles by Derek’s side. “Yes, dessert,” he declares while trying to shake both Derek and his father off of him.

 

“You need to eat healthy, son,” the sheriff informs Stiles while Derek says: “I’m not sure you need dessert after all that food, how can you even fit anything in yourself?” Their eyes meet again and Derek feels strange to have someone else fuss over Stiles like he does, with the same kind of give-no-quarter approach he does.

 

“It’s a fruitsalad! You can’t get healthier than that!” Stiles _whines_.

 

They do let him eat it though.


	11. Derek Hale, Worst Mate Ever (According to the Pack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dessert the pack converges in the living room the mood joyous and content after the good meal. Allison is drawn to the fairy lights on the wall and exclaims in delight at them. “When did you put these up?” she asks, innocently, because she doesn’t know.

 

After dessert the pack converges in the living room the mood joyous and content after the good meal. Allison is drawn to the fairy lights on the wall and exclaims in delight at them. “When did you put these up?” she asks, innocently, because she doesn’t know.

 

Doesn’t know it will make Stiles gasp and Derek growl, setting himself between the others and his mate. Stiles’ hand seeks that spot where he can feel the sparkly presence of their cub, nauseous as he remembers how close he came to losing it. The whole pack, even the humans, can feel their anxiety.

 

“Stiles, I’m sorry” Allison apologizes as Scott, the sheriff and Lydia just ask: “Stiles?”, while the other’s whine in distress, their wolves distressed by the emotions pouring off of their alpha and his mate.

 

Stiles _folds_ down onto the couch, Derek slouching by his side, gathering him onto his arms, holding him close, his hands very, _very_ , gently. He lets his eyes roam over his betas who are rooted to where they were when Allison asked her inopportune question. Allison is turned half away from the wall, Scott beside her, turned to Stiles and Derek. Jackson and Lydia are in the doorway. The sheriff is a few steps away from the couch, intent on coddling Stiles to his heart’s content with Derek’s tacit and unreserved agreement. Erica and Boyd are with Isaac where they had been going for the chairs near the window-wall which is farthest from the door.

 

Stiles speaks first, of course he’s the first who gets his voice pack after his horror has bounded through Derek onto the pack, and of course he says what Derek had hoped to keep a lid on for as long as he could. Yet he deserves every ounce of derision after his own ineptitude put their cub in danger.

 

“I was putting them up after breakfast and almost fell over and could have lost the cub before I even knew I was or could get pregnant because Derek hadn’t bothered to tell me due to his many and varied failings,” he explains with a detached damnably hollow voice, every ounce of him blaming Derek and no-one else. “He did tell me not to get up on that rickety step-ladder but failed to mention a good reason for it, so I was partially to blame.”

 

There is a collective hush over the room as everyone holds their breath. Derek knows Stiles is taking in the varied faces of disbelief, pity and anger (at Derek), knows that his mate isn’t happy with what he sees as he burrows close, so close, to Derek’s side.

 

Scott, having done the last step on his way on accepting Derek as his alpha without reservations, does not explode but turns fully and takes one, two, three steps towards the couch. But he doesn’t say _anything_ , which is unnatural from him. Until he does: “How could you not tell him?” His voice is soft and incredulous, hurt on Stiles’ behalf. “You know how he gets, he would never have… if you’d just been _honest_ with him. Are you that scared, _Derek?”_ His use of Derek’s name, especially with that tone, is like a slap to the face.

 

“Derek, I’m unsure if you’re the right person to take care of Stiles when he’s vulnerable like this, when it’s not just him you’re putting in danger with your recklessness,” the sheriff tells him and Derek pulls into himself. The words hurt, they wound, strike deeper than what Derek would’ve thought possible.

 

“Dad,” Stiles springs into Derek’s defense, getting up quicker than Derek can grab him, lending his alpha speed, unfairly so, “don’t be that mad at Derek! Sure, he fucked up but we dealt with that. I’m sorry I brought it up, just didn’t think. Fuck.” He sways back down with a head rush which makes Derek dizzy too.

 

The sheriff is kneeling by the sofa where Derek is sitting by the mate he loves with desperation, whom he’s unworthy of because Stiles forgives him so much, too much. “Derek,” the sheriff tells Derek and his tone is so reminiscent of his mother it hurts, an alpha tone creeping in among the parental ‘I will be heard’ resonance, “from now on, you will be telling Stiles everything or else, help me god, I will bring my shotgun into play whether or not you’re my alpha.”

 

“What Mr. Stilinski said,” Scott seconds, standing behind the sheriff, though he looks at Stiles like he _knows_ how much it had rankled Stiles to even pretend to obey what Derek had told him, which had led him climbing up the ladder when told not to.

 

Lydia has found her way to them too along with recovering her voice, “I’ll sick Jackson at you,” he tells Derek, “if you ever keep anything from Stiles again. Though I can see why you kept it from him with your issues and the question of him probably not being able to go back to school.”

 

“Did you knock him up on purpose?” Erica asks, “Just to keep him back here? Also not telling was bad, just so you know.”

 

Boyed glares while Isaac frets, distinctly uncomfortable with the tension in the room.

 

Stiles throws his head back, exasperated, his heartrate thankfully calming down and his anxiety evaporating in lieu of his friends threatening Derek, which is… kind of humiliating. “Alright, stop threatening Derek. The gist of this is that he was scared to tell me, I should have listened and we can never do anything, including starting a family of our own, in any sort of normal way!”

 

“Yeah,” Scott chimes in, “I’d have thought it would have been Derek who ---“ and he stops and gulps and backs off when Derek _glares_ at him.

 

Stiles grins and pats Derek’s hand. “Yeah, would be a little bit more reasonable that he would have gotten knocked up since his freaky were biology would have needed less rearranging than mine. I do not have birthing hips.”

 

Derek turns fully to him, amazed at how this wonderful perfect person is his mate. “Are you implying I have birthing hips?”

 

Before Stiles can answer Jackson butts in because the boy will always utter the uncomfortable truths, as long as they concern someone else than him. “Wait, does that mean you, _Stilinski,_ do Derek?”

 

“Wouldn’t you want to find out?” Stiles leers back.

 

The sheriff whimpers. “I should not be hearing about my son’s sex life in this much detail!” Scott pats him on the shoulder.

 

“Wait, Derek could be up the duff too?” Lydia asks, always following the strands of any given conversation.

 

Derek buries his face in his hands. “No. Because it does _not_ work that way, Stiles can’t…” he takes a deep breath, grasping for sanity, “do what needs to be done so it sticks.”

 

“Which is?” Lydia presses. “Spill, Derek, this is vital information.”

 

Stiles is blushing. “Not to you, you can make your own were-babies the old-fashioned way!”

 

All eyes turn to Isaac, the only one not in a girl/boy pairing, though he is part of a ménage with Erica and Boyd, so it doesn’t really apply to him either.

 

“This does not apply to anyone in this room besides Stiles until the next specific moon!” Derek growls, ending the conversation.

 

“So,” Lydia begins, because she is a menace, “what about the birth then?”


	12. Of Secret Recipes and Yarn part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to force Stiles to stay in bed for the remained of the pregnancy was just the tip of the ice berg and the most outrageously over the top way of coddling done by the others. Some of them just demanded he sit down and rest his feet (even when they were not sore) or kept reading aloud to him from pregnancy books, making him a little queasy with all too vivid descriptions over morning sickness and assorted aches and pains. They were trying to keep him from cooking, cleaning or practically doing anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this fic hasn't been updated in almost over a week! I was planning to do it but then I fell over on the 23rd and couldn't type for a bit and then there was Christmas Eve, no access to computer and... yeah. I'm planning to wrap the Christmas portion of this fic before New Years (I hope) and then continuing on with what happens after in what will probably be made into a new series.
> 
> So, in short: I'm planning on seeing this story through until the cub is born and maybe beyond, who knows.

 

The five days leading to Christmas Dinner had been an exercise in restraint. For Stiles, that is. Not for anyone else because they shoved zero restraint in _coddling_ him only coming short on wrapping him in a blanket on his and Derek’s bed while told not to move an inch before his due date.

 

No, Stiles was the one who had to show prodigious restraint in trying to refrain from _strangling_ any of his loves one’s.

 

Derek, of course was the worst but _Stiles’ dad_ , who should have known better, was coming a very close second. He had practically moved in to supervise that Derek was treating his son properly and wasn’t omitting anything about anything. Stiles dad claimed that he hadn’t moved in but if he hadn’t he spent an awful lot of time at their home and just incidentally slept there in the room which he’d claimed as his own …thankfully a distance from Stiles and Derek’s room.

 

Scott fretted almost as much as Stiles’ dad, possibly because Melissa McCall was curbing some of her son’s most outrageously overprotective tendencies and wild fancies over what to do and not while dealing with pregnant people, even when they were your best friend from childhood and had defied their own biology to conceive. The only thing Stiles was grateful was that; so far, Scott had just fretted and had not looked at Stiles like he was a freak. He had also moved in and Allison had so far spent two out of three nights at the house too. She had fretted less than Scott but kept giving Stiles these tight hugs and telling him how happy she was for them because of the baby.

 

Lydia didn’t fret but kept coming over bribing Stiles with chocolates and trying to make him break up with Derek who was “bad parent material” and “Stiles could have better and _deserved_ better, at any rate.” All of which was usually said when Derek himself was only half a foot away from Stiles’ sides or was clutching him to him seemingly afraid Lydia might bodily snatch Stiles away if he let go for a second. Stiles hadn’t, so far, come over without Lydia and did not fret or fuss. Visibly, at least. He was acting cagey, though, like he liked the idea of there being a new small and cuddly addition to their pack in due course.

 

Erica and Boyd had commandeered one of the remaining bedrooms (there were four besides the master bedroom), leaving one for Lydia and Jackson to claim when Lydia decided Stiles needed her constant supervision, Ms. McCall would of course share with Stiles’ dad, Stiles hoped she had refrained from doing so in an attempt to curb dad’s overbearing coddling. Erica was a little less fussy but kept asking pointed questions about the night Stiles and Derek’s cub had been conceived, which he of course refused to answer, while Boyd was silent and the one time he talked to Stiles about the situation he promised to share his baby caring tips, courtesy to him having taken care of his little sisters and brothers (he had two of each).

 

Trying to force Stiles to stay in bed for the remained of the pregnancy was just the tip of the ice berg and the most outrageously over the top way of coddling done by the others. Some of them just demanded he sit down and rest his feet (even when they were not sore) or kept reading aloud to him from pregnancy books, making him a little queasy with all too vivid descriptions over morning sickness and assorted aches and pains. They were trying to keep him from cooking, cleaning or practically doing anything.

 

Except Derek.

 

In hindsight Stiles should have been happy with Derek’s overprotective urges and just let him confine the two of them in the house, at least Derek had let him cook if nothing. It was a miracle Stiles had gotten any cooking or baking done for Christmas. It was mostly due to him having exploded two days before and told anyone who cared to hear that he was sick and tired of the fussing, he wasn’t impaired and if they tried to keep him from his Christmas preparations he had a bag of wolfsbane and he didn’t hesitate to use it. They had compromised with everyone volunteering to help up with everything.

 

Jackson had proved to have a steady hand with the icing and had been delegated to decorating duty with the gingerbread cookies and the rest. They had ended up with a fastidiously done Hogwarts out of gingerbread which no-one dared not even dare and eat because it was such a masterpiece and tins full of snowflakes, Christmas trees, hearts and assorted other shapes all decorated. Erica was a deft hand with gingersnaps while Lydia helped Stiles with a rich Irish chocolate cake which they baked, filled and iced on Christmas Eve night; it was the planned dessert for Christmas dinner, to be eaten with vanilla flavored whipped cream. Boyd had a secret family recipe for Turkey stuffing, which Stiles observed him make with pen dancing on paper as he made notes of it. Stiles, Derek and Stiles’ dad were responsible for the turkey and the rich and creamy and decidedly not heart-healthy (dad got a free pass on holidays) mashed potatoes, a Christmas ham, assorted casseroles and the rest of the ton of food needed to satisfy a werewolf pack’s ravenous appetites. Allison was an expert with French Christmas pastries and cookies, which she had learned to make while visiting France with her father for the summers ever since they had moved into Beacon Hills, meeting relatives and adding to Allison’s training, though so far as Stiles could say it had mostly been training in baking, not in ways to kill werewolves. Isaac flitted around everyone, ready and willing to help with anything that needed to be done. His chocolate chip cookies were the best, in Stiles’ opinion.

 

In between the baking and allotting cleaning duty to those who had coddled him most (his dad, Scott and Lydia) Stiles flitted around the house and seemed to see pack members knitting in every room he went. There was a big wicker basket which was beginning to fill with assorted booties, itty bitty socks and onesies, as those who knew how, mostly Allison, Erica, Isaac and surprisingly Derek, were knitting with a frantic pace for the coming cub (besides Derek, whose knitting seemed a little hesitant, possibly because he had just taken up knitting the week before but bristled when anyone tried to bring that fact up). They were trying to get Stiles to knit, too, because it would “calm his nerves”, supposedly. Stiles countered that with explaining how his nerves were more frayed because of all the fussing, that he wasn’t at all nervous on account of the pregnancy.

 

What Erica and Allison, the bamboo knitting needle enthusiast twins, did not know was that Stiles actually _knew_ how to knit. He had learned as a way to control his ADD before his mom had died but hadn’t picked up either yarn or needle ever since. Dad had not given away his secret, apparently in silent revenge for Stiles complaining about the overbearing fussing dad was doing. Dad seemed to be of the opinion that Stiles needed to try and explain his way out of impromptu knitting lessons and trying to not admit he knew how was enough of a punishment for his perfectly natural want to not be overly fussed on, of a sort.

 

With the way things had been going, Stiles had given in with his pretense on Christmas Eve day and had managed to slip away from the house, though with dad, in a quest to try and reclaim at least some semblance of sanity via some calming knitting.

 

He couldn’t been more wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: fairy lights, supplied by kiramaru7.


End file.
